


Stay and Make It Mean Something

by scottmcniceass



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wants more than just a casual hook up whenever Derek feels like it. He wants Derek, all of him, and he's not willing to settle for less anymore, even if it means ending everything with Derek all together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay and Make It Mean Something

Stiles couldn’t exactly remember how this whole situation started. There had been a lot of shoving and yelling, heated arguments that led to inappropriate touching, and inappropriate touching that led to… more inappropriate touching.

He’d though, at first, that it would be a one time thing. No way in hell would Derek freaking Hale want anything to do with him, especially not like _that_. But then Derek came back for more. And more. Now it was almost a daily routine, him leaving his window open after his dad left for the late shift, waiting for Derek to come through.

And he always did. And when they were done, he always left.

It was casual. That’s what they both called in on the few occasions that Stiles brought it up. Derek didn’t want anything serious, and Stiles was happy to oblige as long as he kept coming back. But sometimes, when they were done and he curled up on his side afterwards, naked and sweaty and completely wrecked, he wanted nothing more than to feel Derek’s heat behind him as he drifted off in to sleep. Wanted to wake up the next morning with his body curled around Derek’s.

But that was decidedly _not_ casual. And so he ignored the impulse to beg Derek to stay. At least, he tried. He really did. But slowly, over time, the feeling of wanting more increased. He wanted someone to want him, not just physically, but emotionally. Permanently.

He shut the window that night.

Of course, shutting your window against a freaking alpha werewolf isn’t exactly effective. Stiles groaned loudly at the sound of his window being pushed open, and then Derek’s warm hand was on his back, his breath tickling Stiles’ neck.

He really hated the way his body reacted to that. He’d made up his mind to stop things. That was why he closed the window. And yet, the second Derek was on him, every ounce of resolve he had slipped away.

“Not tonight,” he protested weakly, rolling over to face Derek.

Derek’s eyebrows were raised. “You want me to stop?” He asked, placing his hand on Stiles’ stomach, letting his fingers play in the small trail of hair there.

_Yes._ “No.”

Derek smirked. “That’s what I thought.” He said, leaning down for a kiss. It wasn’t a nice kiss, the kind that couples exchanged. It was all rough and hard and needy, both of them moaning for more as their tongues danced against each other.

“Come _on_ ,” Stiles urged, arching his back into Derek’s touch.

Derek chuckled. It was always like this, Derek giving a little, Stiles asking for a lot. But in the end Stiles always did get what he asked for.

Derek’s hand groped him through his boxers and he let out a harsh breath. He hated when Derek toyed with him like this, and he made a noise that told Derek so. The other boy ignored him, his hand continuing to tease Stiles’ through the cloth until, finally, he yanked down the material.

When Stiles was fully naked, laying there, waiting, Derek leaned back, pulling off his jacket in the process. It fell somewhere on Stiles’ floor, joined soon after by Derek’s shirt and, yeah, okay, that was something he was probably never going to get used to. So many hard muscles, straining against skin, defined and delicious.

But his eyes were pulled away from Derek’s abs as he started undoing his pants.

When he and Stiles were equally unclothed, he returned to the bed, slipping under the covers, reaching a hand over Stiles’ body to flick off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

And then the sick, twisted feeling in Stiles gut that he’d been getting lately returned, but now he was sick of it. If Derek wanted-- whatever the hell this was, then he was going to have to let Stiles have what he wanted.

Stiles gripped his hand roughly in Derek’s hair and pulled the other boy to him. The press of their lips was slow, because Stiles refused to let it be anything but. When Derek’s tongue ran over his lower lip, demanding entrance, have gave it, but not in the heated, rough way they usually did. His tongue slowly grazed against Derek, kissing, tasting him, more intimately than anything they’d done before.

Derek pulled back with a jolt. “What are you doing?” Derek demanded, narrowing his eyes.

Stiles snorted. He hadn’t been intimidated by Derek in a long time. He knew that when it came to Stiles, Derek was all bark and no bite. “Maybe I’m trying to make it mean something.” Stiles snapped.

The warm body that had been pressed against his disappeared, the bed creaking as Derek stood up.

Stiles followed him. He wasn’t going to let Derek run off.

“This isn’t _supposed_ to mean anything.” Derek told him. “That’s the _point_.”

“Maybe that’s your point,” Stiles said, crossing his arms over his chest which, staring at Derek bathed in only the moonlight, suddenly felt embarrassingly thin and weak. “But I’m not happy with you just fucking me and leaving anymore.”

Derek made an annoyed sound and picked his clothes off the ground. “Then I guess we’re done here.”

Stiles was frustrated. This was not going how he’d planned. Well, okay, he didn’t exactly plan, but if he _had_ he would have planned for it to go _way_ different than this. And it would have ended with him waking up to Derek’s arm around his waist.

Stiles took a step towards Derek as the other man tried to pull his clothes back. Stiles put a hand on his wrist, stopping him.

  
“You could have anyone you want,” Stiles stated. Because it was true. Derek was gorgeous and he wasn’t the only one who noticed. “But you still chose me. You can walk out that door right now, and tell yourself that you don’t want more than this. But you’d be lying. And we’ll both know it.”

His hand moved to Derek’s waist, fingernails digging into the flesh there. Derek groaned loudly and pulled Stiles’ closer to him. They were both still hard, their cocks rubbing up against each other as Stiles rutted his hips forward.

 

-

 

He should leave. He should pull his clothes on right now and get the hell out of there before he does something he regrets. Before he finally gives into that need that burying himself inside Stiles never fully satisfied. That ache for something more. Something that, as Stiles had said, mattered.

“Stay.” Stiles ordered. It wasn’t a question.

Stiles reached between them to grip him, hard, before pumping him just once, just enough to make him bite his lip to keep from telling him not to stop. Stiles’ hand was sweaty and Derek couldn’t tell if it was because it’s hot in the room or if it’s because he’s nervous, waiting for Derek to answer him. It doesn’t matter, though. All that matters is that if _feels_ good, and he wants more, and he wants Stiles, and so he takes what he wants, pushing the other boy against the bed until he’s positioned between his legs, his cock nudging against Stiles’ ass.

It felt different this time, like they’ve both accepted the fact that when the sun rises tomorrow, they’ll still be together, all pretences of casualness thrown out the window. It makes Derek want to take his time. No need to rush, to get himself finished and disappear.

Somehow it became more about getting Stiles’ off then getting himself off, as he pressed his fingers into the other boy, curling them just right to his that spot that always made Stiles’ cry out, or bite his pillow, or shove his fist in his mouth.

Usually the foreplay lasts just long enough to get Stiles’ ready, but it drags on tonight. His cock aches for more but he ignores it, pressing into Stiles with another finger while his other hand pumps Stiles’ cock in a slow, teasing manner until Stiles is writhing under him, begging, demanding, needing more.

 

-

 

Stiles’ back was sweaty and there were a few scratch marks marring the pale skin from where he’d accidentally held on too tight. He gently slid his fingers over them, promising himself to be more careful next time.

Stiles pushed himself backwards, trying to get closer even though they’re already pressed together. Derek’s hand found it’s way to Stiles’ hip and rested there, fingers playing lazily against the smooth skin.

“G’night, Derek.” Stiles muttered sleepily, his hand catching Derek’s where it lay at his hip. He wasn’t pushing it away, though. He was holding it there, almost as if he was afraid that if he didn‘t, it would disappear, Derek along with it.

“Go to sleep.” Derek replied, closing his own eyes, letting his head fall against the same pillow Stiles’ head lay on, close enough that Stiles’ would have to endure his breathing on his neck for the rest of the night.

Stiles doesn’t complain. Derek doesn’t leave.


End file.
